


I've missed you at the wedding...

by andrea_deer



Series: Kissing Meme [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kissing Meme, M/M, Mycroft's POV, No Beta, Post The Sign of Three, gregoire dante lestrade, suprise visits, tipsy kisses, tipsy/drunk Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:06:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrea_deer/pseuds/andrea_deer
Summary: Kissing Meme: 06) Tipsy kiss - Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade for hmg621.   "Oh, well, who else would I call?"   "I'm sure Sherlock has some quite interesting alternatives saved in his phone."   "Well, yeah, but I like you."   Well... Wasn't that a loaded sentence that Mycroft certainly shouldn't read too much into.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes a mention of headcanons regarding one [Grègoire Dante Lestrade, because this headcanon is something you will take away from me only when you will be taking it from my cold, dead fingers. (No prior knowledge required, but I'm just including an explenation in case the conversation about Greg's name might confuse you.)](http://lordnochybaty.tumblr.com/post/152216636889/wymzypie-greg-being-half-spanish-and-half-french)

After the first phone call Mycroft had rather expected Sherlock to call again. It was a difficult night for him, after all. Mycroft teased him about it, made sure Sherlock hadn't thought Mycroft was on high alert, but of course he was. Whatever happened to John Watson always affected Sherlock and the good doctor getting married? Well, that certainly required some sort of reaction in younger Holmes' system.  
Mycroft merely hoped it will be something manageable, something they - or rather he - can deal with. 

He purposefully avoided the reception, choosing to stay at home and be ready for whatever the night might bring. Careful not to provide the extra push for Sherlock's strained mental state. Mycroft's indifference over the phone was an obvious facade, but he was certain that with this level of stress and the amounts of distractions he will be able to fool Sherlock from afar. The fact that he didn't want to go in the first place was quite frankly a bonus, he appreciated it, but could deal without it if he considered it a better course of action. He attended enough boring, more or less formal, occasions celebrating people he never cared for or openly disliked, that one more wedding, for one more pawn was hardly a hardship. 

He stayed at home, getting regular updates from his people carefully stationed at the wedding and within the safe distance and kept his private phone always within reach in case Sherlock called again.

What surprised him was that the phone rang off almost two hours after it was confirmed that Sherlock had left the party. Perhaps he waited until coming home to make the call...

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, trying for the edge of surprise, so his brother wouldn't think he was expecting contact.

"Nope," replied back a cheerful voice. "Try again."

Mycroft frowned, that was certainly... unexpected.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Bingo!" laughed the other man. "Though some people call me Greg, you know? It's easier? But you Holmeses never make anythin' easy, do you? Sherlock called me Geoff."

"I see-"

"I hate that name. Geoff. Had a mate named that, total wanker."

Mycroft was stunned into silence for a moment, unsure how to handle this particular, clearly quite intoxicated, debacle.

"I see," he tried again and quickly followed it with the most important question at the moment: "May I ask why you're calling me from Sherlock's phone?"

"Oh, he left it at the reception, I thought I'd return it."

"That's quite nice of you, I'm sure. Any reason why you're calling me instead then?"

"Oh, well, I thought, since I have his phone, I might as well call someone. He always messes up my phone, you know? And I bet he has some stupidly expensive plan for this phone, cause he's like on it all the time, isn't he? ... Or maybe he's not. He mostly texts and just looks stuff up, doesn't he? Shit, am I messing his phone plan?"

"Probably," agreed Mycroft with a great deal of concealed amusement. "However wouldn't you consider it a proper revange after his dealings with your mobile?"

"Yeah, probably. And anyway, I only called you, it's not like I called someone abroad or somethin'... Maybe I should, though. That would teach the prat."

"May I however repeat my initial inquiry?"

"What?"

"Why did you call me, Detective Inspector?"

"Jesus, it's Greg, seriously. And I was just looking through the phone to make sure it's Sherlock's and I thought I should call somebody."

"And you called me."

"Yeah."

"And I repeat: why me in particular?"

"Oh, well, who else would I call?"

"I'm sure Sherlock has some quite interesting alternatives saved in his phone."

"Well, yeah, but I like you."

Well... Wasn't that a loaded sentence that Mycroft certainly shouldn't read too much into, considering Detective Inspector Lestrade's state. He forced his brain to use the full title of the man. Lack of discipline in one's thoughts leads to lack of discipline in one's acts and that was certainly not an option in such a delicate situation.

"And I hoped you could lend me some cash."

"Beg pardon?"

"For the cab."

".... Detective Inspector Lestrade, where exactly are you?" asked Mycroft with an uneasy feeling.

"Umm... Sort of... right under your gate? And I'm a bit short on cash, you see? And Frank says it's fine, he can wait-"

"I'm sure he can," Mycroft rolled his eyes and quickly walked towards the front door and into the chill night air, glad he at least had not yet retired for the night and was not forced to face these unexpected developments in his sleepwear.

On the other side of the gate was standing a cab with Detective Inspector Lestrade leaning against it for the balance he was clearly lacking. Lestrade smiled brightly, when he spotted Mycroft and then waved cheerfully, still holding the phone close to his face.

One of these days, thought Mycroft with a small sigh, one of these days Sherlock will be a fully functional adult and Mycroft will have no need to meddle with his affairs and will not be forced to interact with his... _friends_.

"Oy, are you really going to settle this guy's bill?" asked the driver. Fred, according to Lestrade. He clearly was not as hopeful about it as the policeman sounded.

Mycroft only nodded and then raised his eyebrows at the sum. Lestrade had at least enough sense to look sheepish about it.

"You took a cab straight from the reception hall?"

"You make it sound exactly as bad as I realized it is half way here," the policeman replied with a guilty smile.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but did not comment. He watched carefully as Lestrade moved away from the cab, so Fred could drive away, automatically catching the man by the elbow and supporting him, when he wavered without the support of the car. Lestrade barely noticed, waving Fred goodbye, before turning back to Mycroft.

He tapped Mycroft's chest with Sherlock's phone and Mycroft used his free hand to put it in his pocket.

"Thank you," he said and after a beat tried to add tactfully: "Perhaps you should be getting home now."

"I would," the man agreed, shrugging. "But you paid off my cab."

It took an overly long moment for Mycroft to realize the implications. He closed his eyes in annoyance, counting down from ten, before opening them back again, several plans on how to get Lestrade out of here already in place.

He noticed the policeman'a face, and his whole body in general, was now even closer than before.

"Why weren't you at the wedding?" the man asked, his breath carrying the smell of the alcohol he recently consumed.

"Perhaps I was not invited."

"You were, Mary told me."

Mycroft rose his eyebrows.

"Did she now? Have you asked specifically?"

"Well, I-" Lestrade looked away, somewhat embarrassed. "No."

Mycroft hummed in disbelieving agreement and Lestrade glared at him with little heat.

"So?"

Part of Mycroft, the part that still clearly remembered being raised with a younger brother, equally as stubborn as him if not more so, really wanted to reply _"So what?"_ and continue the evasion game. Diplomat Mycroft learned long ago that you lose too many players in that game and it's never worth the time nor the effort.

"I've had other obligations and I rather believed I would not be missed."

"I've missed you," protested Lestrade and for a moment Mycroft looked at him, simply dumbfounded. Lestrade grinned. "I hoped to convince you to dance with me."

Mycroft snorted inelegantly, which seemed to delight Lestarde.

"I don't think that would quite work out."

"Yeah, probably not. Could be fun to try, though. We could talk."

"We are talking, Detective Inspector."

"Yeah, it's nice."

They stood in silence for a moment, Lestrade humming something off-key and lightly swinging to the tune he could hear.

"And it's Greg," he finally said and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"No, it's not."

"What?"

"It is not Greg. You have never fully changed it, you simply use the shortened version. In legal documents it's still Grègoire."

Mycroft looked at the other man, who was now staring at him intently, completely still.

"I should be really crept out by that," he said finally and Mycroft looked at him curiously, with the tiniest smile. That was certainly not a typical reaction.

"Are you?" he asked quietly, watching the man carefully as he slowly shook his head.

"If I weren't so drunk," he said and Mycroft could smell the odour of alcohol on his breath even stronger now, though he could not quite clearly recall when Lestrade got that close, "I would've kissed you just for the way you say it."

Mycroft blinked, frozen for a short moment, before leaning in against every yell of reason raging alarm in his skull. He kissed Lestrade on the lips, brief and chaste. His eyes still open and watching the detective carefully.

"Consider it again tomorrow. For now I believe I should get you a ride home," he said, taking a step back from the policeman and pulling his phone out to call his driver.

He could feel Lestrade's gaze through the whole conversation, but did not make a mistake of meeting it again. Their parting was almost as impersonal as he was used, if not for the extra amount of support Inspector's wavering frame required. Mycroft was quite ready to write it all off as an oddity of the night and drink until the next day, when he got a message on his phone during a lunch with the Prime Minister.

"I stole your number from your brother's phone. I hope you appreciate the reciprocation in stealing of personal data. ;) ~ Greg"

Just in case Mycroft saved the number as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come talk to me/prompt me on [tumblr](http://lordnochybaty.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also, I am looking for a beta. For any posted fic or future fic, or in general. In the near future most likely for few more kissing meme ficlets. If you'd be interested - feel free to message me on tumblr or send me an email.


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